


Reputation

by Polyhexian



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Character Study, Gen, POV Second Person, Self-Harm, pre-overlord incident
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:22:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25851277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polyhexian/pseuds/Polyhexian
Summary: A sea of Whirls.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32
Collections: IDW1 Canon-compliant headcanons





	Reputation

There's this groove in the surface of the floor you're trying to walk on, imagining you're balancing on a tight rope as you do, but your wide-set hips and short legs make it an especially difficult venture. You're almost all the way to Swerve's when you hear laughter and quickly shift your pedes so you don't look like you were being childish. 

Pipes is there when you turn the corner and he beams at you with a wave, a flashlight strapped to his head and gaudish paper-mache claws over his hands like mittens.

"What's with the get up?" you ask as you approach him and Drift, lingering outside the bar. Even Drift has a flashlight strapped to his head.

"It's theme night," Pipes informs you, "You're supposed to dress up as someone you want to punch, and you get half price drinks."

"Aw," you say, "I forgot. I don't have a costume."

"Here," says Pipes, fishing around in his subspace, "I brought some extra flashlights, just in case!"

"So, what, all three of us are going as Nutjob?" you chuckle, and take the flashlight he hands you.

Drift snorts laughter and crosses his arms, "I suspect everyone but Rodimus is going as him."

"People really wanna punch him _that_ badly?" you inquire, bending forward so Pipes can help you tie off your new headband, "I mean, yeah, he's totally crazy, but he seems like the fun kind of crazy to me. What's so bad about him, anyway?"

"Where do I even _start,_ " Drift moans.

"Oh, you've gone and gotten him started, now!" Pipes laughs and leans away from you to push the bar doors open. They swing inside and you see they were right- the room is a flush with flashlights and plastic claws, blue temporary paint and warbly antennae. A sea of Whirls.

"He used to work in Rodion," Drift begins, as the three of you make your way to the bar, "As a _cop_ , believe it or not, and let me tell you, he was one of the _worst_ of them. He used to shake _me_ down for boosters, and if I didn't have any to pay him with he'd arrest me on some trumped up charges."

"That's horrible!" you gasp. You know Drift used to live in Rodion, on the streets, and you know he had a hard life, before the war. A world you didn't see, but he doesn't need to know that. 

"Not to mention, the whole damn war is _basically_ his fault," Pipes scoffs, and Drift picks him up to drop him on a barstool, " _He_ beat Megatron nearly to death in his cell for no good reason. After that, ol' Megs didn't want peace; he wanted vengeance."

"So he's not just crazy," you say, and let Drift drop you onto the second barstool, while he takes the third, "He's genuinely a bad person."

"We're all bad people, fists of fury," Swerve comments, sliding into view, "Who are we talking about, specifically?"

"Whirl," says Drift, "Get me an acid blitz on the rocks, thanks." 

"Oh! Yeah, no, he's the worst," Swerve laughs, slapping the bar, "Thousand and one stories about _that_ guy. I hear when they emp'd him they fragged the whole process up and lodged a scalpel right in his brain!" Swerve mimed cutting open a brainstem and jabbing a knife into it with a stir stick, "Damn thing's still in there, making him crazy."

"I heard that he doesn't even feel pain," Pipes adds, wiggling his fingers as if he were telling a ghost story, "That he had his pain receptors removed."

"I don't even think that's possible," Drift admits, "But _I_ have nerve damage from booster abuse, so I can only assume he does, too, and that's where that rumour comes from."

"I didn't know that!" Pipes gasps, and then jabs Drift in the thigh, "Did you feel that?" 

"Yes," Drift rolls his optics, "but it didn't hurt. Don't just punch people because they say they can't feel it, Pipes."

"Ah, come on, Drift, you can stand a couple friendly punches, huh?" Swerve snickers, "So what can I do you boys for then? Half off for costumes."

"I'd like a carbonated engex, please, with sugar," says Pipes, "Tailgate?"

"Um, give me something hard," you say, trying not to sound so uncertain, trying to sound like you know how to drink since everyone thinks you do, "Bartender's choice."

"Top shelf, got it," says Swerve, flashing you a thumbs up and turning away. 

There's a crash behind you as the doors slam open, but Swerve's is always noisy and you don't turn around to investigate. You might have, though, because you're startled when Whirl surges up beside you and slams his elbows on the bar. 

"Barkeep!" he hollers, rapping his claws on the countertop, "I want my discount!"

"You know the rules, Whirl," Swerve says, waving a hand as he pours a mug of engex, "No costume, no discount."

"I'm wearing a costume!" Whirl argues, waving a claw, "The theme tonight is the person you would most like to punch, right?"

"Right."

The helicopter splays out his arms, pincers opening wide, "I'm here as myself! Ain't nobody I wanna punch more than me."

"That's cheating," Swerve scoffs, slamming your drink down in front of you, "and I don't give half-priced drinks to cheaters who don't want to wear costumes."

"Aw, shortstop, come on, you know I love costumes!" Whirl groans, "But there ain't nobody I'd like to punch more! I don't need no rinky dink flash light duct taped to my head when I've already got the real deal type knock-off noggin, eh?" He reaches back without looking and baps the flashlight on your head, flipping it on. Your head bobs downward with the weight and an overwhelming sense of guilt races through your neck and your fuel lines into your tanks and around your spark. What did knock-off noggin mean? Is his head not normal? It occurs to you, suddenly, that your costume might be… mocking. 

"Oh, yeah?" Swerve challenges, leaning forward, "Prove it."

You scramble back and out of the way as Whirl kicks a leg up onto the bar and you're lucky that Pipes catches you and Drift catches Pipes, and then Whirl has clambered up on top of the bar and stolen your drink. He tips it back, below his helm, through a neck port you only see when his neck struts split open and you realize he doesn't have an intake in his helm at all, and he downs the entire thing in one gulp.

"Listen up, party people!" Whirl hollers across the busy bar, and all attention goes to him, the chatter dying for a moment before it rises up louder than before, "Who here wants to see Whirl get punched!" 

There's a cheer through the room, and then just like that, Whirl holds the glass pint aloft and swings it up and smashes it down on top of his head. It shatters and leaves him clutching the handle in his claw, optic flickering offline for a moment at the impact. You recoil in horror at the display, but he isn't finished. 

"Thank you, thank you, I'll be here all week!" Whirl coos, and throws the handle out into the crowd. Trailbreaker snatches it from the air and spins it around. 

"Hey, that wasn't a punch!" Drift laughs, and you snap your head back to look at him, fanged dentae visible in an encouraging smile, "The criteria was pretty specific!"

"My good mech you _are_ right," Whirl sighs, and then waves his claws upward, encouraging people to cheer louder, "Who here thinks I can do better, huh?!" 

As their voices rise, Whirl folds his claws together, pulls back his wrist and slams it into the front of his helm so hard the tusks of it crumple with a metallic shriek. The crowd goes wild.

"Encore, encore!" calls Chromedome from one of the booths, while Rewind sits in his lap and whistles.

"What can I say, Swerve? The people love me!" Whirl shrugs, pulls his arm back, and hits himself again, hard enough to crack his optic. More glass tinkles down around you but you stare, silent. 

"Let me cut you a deal, chopper," Swerve says, wiping glass off the counter, "I'll give you three shanix credit for every person you let deck you." 

"Make it five!"

"Four."

"Who wants to hit the real thing!" Whirl hollers, and the room explodes in cheering and laughter. Brainstorm scrambles onto the bar and doesn't hesitate to rear back an arm and hit Whirl with a sharp uppercut. He turns, spins and bows, briefcase held out at his side. 

You get up. 

"Are you leaving, 'Gate?" Pipes turns and asks you.

"Yeah," you say, glancing back as First Aid next pulls himself up onto the bar and slams a fist into Whirl's optic while the helicopter laughs, manically, hysterically, deliriously, his voice lost in a sea of cackling flashlights cheering him on, "I'm not feeling it after all."


End file.
